


Black Sheep

by Ulfrsmal



Series: March Musical Madness Masterpieces [41]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, March Musical Madness (The Last Kingdom), Mentions of Bratty Sub, Suggestive Themes, Teasing, angst if you squint, innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 08:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30018993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulfrsmal/pseuds/Ulfrsmal
Summary: Finan has never belonged anywhere; even now, after finding his place with Uhtred and Sihtric, he still feels like his family’s black sheep.
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Series: March Musical Madness Masterpieces [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185899
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	Black Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> The title is [a song by Sonata Arctica](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_IJft7ktaI). This drabble also ran away from me a lot; I can’t even call it a “drabble” anymore…!
> 
> The words not in English are translated in the End Notes.

Uhtred laughs loud and ecstatic, watching how Finan chases after Sihtric with fire in his eyes and even fierier intentions burning through his shouted words. There must be something in the air, as his brother Ragnar said upon finding the three men play-fighting in the courtyard; Sihtric certainly is smiling much more than usual. The rogue’s elation is easy to see and even easier to _feel_ , resounding boisterous within Uhtred’s ribcage. Loud like the boy himself never is. Uhtred remains in place only for long enough to finish his mead-cup, and then takes off after Finan.

Their Irishman splutters some well-chosen profanities when Uhtred embraces his waist from behind; not even his portentous agility can help him break free. Sihtric observes it unfolding from a safe distance, for he knows that Finan will try to capture him in turn if he gets close. Sihtric leans a hand on his stomach like it’s paining him; and Uhtred would usually feel the cold touch of worry, but he knows their boy’s pain is just due to how much he has been laughing tonight. Uhtred’s own stomach hurts in the same delicious way; and Finan must be feeling it too, judging from how acutely he’s refusing to let Uhtred’s fingers do so much as brush against his abdomen.

Uhtred uses his superior strength to hold Finan steady, curving into their Irishman when he slithers side-to-side like an eel in a desperate attempt at breaking away from the loving grapple. Sihtric giggles and Finan glares at him; when Sihtric starts to blush, his gaze travelling down all over Finan’s front and back up again, their Irishman's body grows slack in Uhtred’s arms. He barely has to lean in to kiss the back of Finan’s neck, forcing him to arch his back like he always does when he gets suddenly kissed.

He is still not used to this, Uhtred thinks with naught but a piercing arrow to the heart. Even after all these months of holding him in between them, of kissing him all over, of lavishing his well-formed yet scarred body in love and attention, Finan is still not used to this. He would much rather focus on either Uhtred or Sihtric than have them focus on him instead. Uhtred can understand why, for he’s heard enough about Finan’s past to know it is not a pretty one to recall, but it always pains him to see his Irishman’s reluctance to be loved.

Sihtric knows less about Finan’s time in Ireland than Uhtred does, although simply because Finan has chosen to not share many details about it since he and Uhtred regained their liberty. Even so, their gentle rogue is always the first to react. Uhtred doesn’t know if it’s because he himself is slow, or because Sihtric is just too observant to not instinctually know what needs to be done.

“Finan.” He starts, his tone light and tensionless. There’s a hint of desperation in how he pronounces the name, as though they’re in bed all together and not in the middle of the open courtyard and under the moonlight. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No…” Finan growls; his need to not make his two Heathens worry far outweighs his desire for privacy. Still, Uhtred gives Sihtric a warning look, silently ordering him to not press Finan too harshly. If he lashed out, the one who would bear the brunt of his sinewy strength would be Uhtred. “I’m fine, love.”

“Are you sure?” Sihtric takes the tiniest step forward, testing whether Finan will allow him to do so. Unsurprisingly to Sihtric, and astonishingly for Uhtred, no negative reaction arrives. Sihtric nods his head to point at the centre of Finan’s chest, “You’re not wearing your cross tonight.”

Uhtred tenses at their rogue’s words, suddenly racking his most recent memories, trying to determine whether the detail is right or not. His mead-filled brain doesn’t help him at all, though; in the end, he has to risk leaning closer to their Irishman to look down his front from over his right shoulder. Finan tenses even more, growling a warning that Uhtred knows means no real bite, but lets him do.

Turns out that Sihtric is right, as he always is whenever he makes any observations out loud. Uhtred feels himself grow proud of their boy and worried for Finan at the same time.

“It didn’t feel right.” Finan mumbles, so quiet that even Uhtred has trouble hearing him at first. For some forsaken reason, Finan chooses this precise instant to break free of Uhtred’s arms and walk away from them. Uhtred exchanges a pointed look with their boy and they follow suit. Somehow, Finan’s gait is less wobbly than Uhtred’s, although Finan decidedly drunk more mead tonight. “Let go, you two.”

“Why should we?” Uhtred presses on, already feeling like Sihtric did his best and yet got nowhere. If a firm touch is required here, it should come from him; and not just because he _is_ their Lord. Or, at least, he is such when out of bed. “You aren’t telling us a single thing, Finan! How do you expect us to not worry about you?!”

“I said I’m fine!” Finan’s tone comes out more strained than before; it’s probably from how he hasn’t raised his volume in spite of his every instinct demanding he shouts. He’s got fire in his veins, Uhtred and Sihtric know, they’ve seen him kill enough times to know that much about him. “Leave me be!”

“What day is today, Uhtred?” Sihtric asks then, so out of nowhere, so contextless to everyone, that it makes even Finan falter in his step. When he turns around to look at Sihtric in the face, the rogue is conveniently looking elsewhere, as though the pigpen at his left holds all the answers he needs right now. “If we didn’t do anything and we didn’t say anything, then maybe it’s the date.”

“A date is what we all need.” Uhtred replies easily. It feels natural to tease them in this fashion precisely because he knows that, even at his angriest, Finan never has the heart to disagree nor refuse his advances. “One far away from here, where it’s only you, me, and him. Preferably somewhere we can f–”

“Don’t you _dare_.” Finan interrupts him, silently yet airily gesturing to the nunnery at the end of the street. They are too far away for the novices to overhear a single word, not to mention that none of them are even outside this late at night, but Uhtred does not argue. He’s got a feeling that, whatever Finan needs, it’s not a continuous push-and-pull.

“Let’s move away, then.” Sihtric suggests, ever-helpful in the rare occasions when Uhtred and Finan cannot see eye-to-eye. “To the stables or our rooms…”

“A room sounds nice.” Uhtred smirks, letting his eyes descend down the length of Finan’s body with impossibly filthy intentions. “Somewhere we can be alone, aye?”

“We _are_ alone.” Finan points out, his voice even more strained than before. Sihtric frowns and looks to Uhtred, his gaze dark and light at the same time as it passes over their Irishman’s shoulder. Uhtred knows well that their rogue intends it to be a warning, but he deliberately chooses to ignore it by pressing his lips to the back of Finan’s neck again. He earns a growl for his troubles.

“We cannot help if we don’t know what’s wrong.” Uhtred whispers to him. Most of the promising darkness from before is gone now, although they all know that he would still not say “no” if he were propositioned now. “Talk, love.”

“Are you ordering me, Lord?”

The mention of Uhtred’s rightful title alarms both him and Sihtric to the point of fixing them to the spots where they stand. Finan uses the newly-found leverage he’s just created for himself to stomp away, using his superior agility to vault over some stacked crates, thus pushing far ahead of his two favourite Heathens.

“You’re being so _difficult!_ ” Uhtred exclaims in sheer exasperation.

A second later, he silently admires how Sihtric does not stop when he reaches the crates, and merely vaults past them. His motion isn’t identical to the one Finan did; a testament to their various strengths in spite of them being able to perform the same tasks. In comparison, Uhtred’s mead-filled body feels torpid. He rounds the crates because it’s easier than attempting the same feat; he’s sure he would’ve ended up in a messy heap on the ground.

“ _Finan!_ ”

The sound of their Lord growling out his name like it's a blessing and a curse all at once gives Finan pause. It allows a panting, slightly flushed Sihtric to catch up with him. Their rogue must be much more wounded and winded than he lets on, for he is extremely quick to push Finan against the nearest wall and keep him pinned there by throwing his weight at him. Finan’s hands instinctively go to Sihtric’s waist; his eyes reflect his pain when Sihtric bats them away, holding them at either side of Finan’s head against the wall. Uhtred catches up to them then. His head spins at how Finan is not even trying to resist.

“Let go.” Finan looks off to the side, not even raising his voice beyond a whisper.

“Not until you tell us what’s wrong.” Uhtred moves closer, crowding into Finan’s side as much as he dares. There’s no telling when that characteristic Irish rage will act up again. “We want to help you! You’ve helped us so many times before too!”

“You cannot help.” Finan replies, his voice smaller and smaller with every syllable that leaves his throat; Uhtred must lean forward to catch the last word. Sihtric presses him more fully against the stone-wall behind and Finan growls like he always does whenever one of them challenges his dominance in bed, “ _Sihtric_.”

“I’m not backing off.” Sihtric’s voice is rough. He’s trembling. Uhtred recognises it all as Sihtric’s own dominance coming out to play, provoked into appearing so plainly in his entire posture by Finan’s apparent conflict over whether he should dominate or not. “Not until you talk, _a stór_.”

A small smile appears in Finan’s handsome, bearded face at the Gaelic. Sihtric’s accent probably colours the words to the point of making them sound almost wrong to a native speaker such as Finan, but he doesn’t correct anything about it. If anything, he just seems pleased that the tables have turned on him like this. Uhtred’s gaze on Sihtric must be easy to feel, for their boy suddenly turns towards him with blue embers and dark flames.

Uhtred’s breath catches in his throat; he gasps a sound that is a borderline moan. It prompts Sihtric to smile, all sharp fangs and coiled strength. There is more than just a sliver of danger lurking in him; all the power he has willingly relinquished to Finan and Uhtred alike is now irradiating off him. Finan takes a sharp inhale, as sharp as the pointed tip of the fang Sihtric traces with his tongue’s end, still looking at Uhtred in the eye.

“ _Fuck_ …” Finan growls with his next exhale, voicing the thoughts that have been frozen within Uhtred’s brain, courtesy of Sihtric’s forwardness. “Don’t you _dare_ release me now.”

“I though that’s what you wanted from me.” Sihtric’s voice has gone down two or three notes, giving him an even more authoritative aura than the one surrounding him at all times. Uhtred would be extremely jealous of how swiftly Sihtric can switch between submissiveness and dominance if he wasn’t able to do the same. Some envy remains within, however; Uhtred’s not nearly as quick to sway from one to the other after his nightly preference has been established. “I thought you asked me to let go…” Contrary to his words, he only tightens his hold of Finan’s wrists, forcing a new growl from him; one that Uhtred soon echoes, “Why do you want to stay now?”

“Because you’re looking at him like _that_.” Finan replies, nodding his head towards where Uhtred is trembling in place.

“See, love? You _can_ say the truth when you want to.” Sihtric’s gaze travels from Uhtred’s to Finan’s. It makes Uhtred feel released, as though he can finally breathe again. At the same time, Finan’s breathing stops. “So tell me what’s wrong with you, or I won’t play.”

Finan would groan and let his head roll backwards in frustration, Uhtred knows; alas, Sihtric has him utterly pinned with hands and gaze. There is simply no possible way for Finan to move now. Uhtred himself isn’t faring much better; his trousers are already threatening with tightening right here, in the middle of a deserted alley in the dead of night, only due to Sihtric’s darkness arising to the forefront. Uhtred silently wills himself to not harden, not until they get the naked truth from Finan – _that_ is the most important thing now, and not Uhtred’s lack of self-control when it comes to “sexual gratification”, as he’s heard Father Beocca call it on multiple occasions in the past.

“I… don’t belong.” Finan’s voice is thin, slightly higher than it usually is. Good for Sihtric, Uhtred thinks; it seems that he isn’t the only one suddenly feeling submissive from their rogue’s advances… “Ireland wasn’t kind, but it felt like home.”

Sihtric hums a single note, the sound born at the back of his throat. Uhtred shivers the shiver that has Finan’s back arching into Sihtric’s front. Their mischievous rogue pins Finan’s hips down by pressing his own against his, slotting one of his slender thighs in between Finan’s own with all the shamelessness that shines in Uhtred’s eyes - if this little, alluring spectacle carries on for much longer, he’ll start begging Sihtric any time soon…

“A-and now I’m here…” Finan sighs, his breath ruffling some loose curls at the side of Sihtric’s neck. Their rogue cocks his head to that side as if chasing that warmth, gaze still as intense as ever. “A Christian amongst Heathens, the only Irish, the only one who fights with two swords sometimes, the only one who hates the shield-wall…”

“That makes you stand out to me.” Sihtric interjects when Finan trails off; he’s quick to nod towards Uhtred as he adds, “To _us_. You're unique, Finan. And you belong with us.”

Uhtred’s mind reels in a way he cannot describe at how Sihtric has intentionally not said that Finan belongs _to_ them, because his freedom is too precious to restrict at all, much less for one of the games they enjoy playing in bed.

“Do I?” Finan’s voice is back at its usual octave, grave and heavy with the feelings spilling forth; Uhtred thinks Finan would be unable to contain them even if he’d tried, “I have _never_ belonged, Sihtric. I’m a fuckin’ black sheep. I just wonder how much longer it’ll take until you two desert me too.”

“ _Never!_ ” Uhtred growls, more violently and loud than he’d intended for it to be. Sihtric gives him a _look_ made entirely from intense flames, daring him to speak out of turn again.

Uhtred’s stomach ties itself into a delicious knot. He knows that he’s always enjoyed being pushed right back into submissiveness, intentionally kept there until he feels like crying. That's not his usual default, though. Usually he rebels incessantly, for there's simply too much fun to be had in pushing against Finan or Sihtric, or even _both_. And, right now, something in Sihtric’s demeanour tells him that he’d be happy to put Uhtred in his place.

An image of Uhtred kneeling at Sihtric’s feet crosses their Lord’s mind’s eye. He trembles. Sihtric’s smirk is a slow, mellow curve spreading his lips opened, giving Uhtred another hint of sharp fangs. Gods, but how much would he _love_ to feel them sinking into his flesh…

“Finan.” Sihtric sounds as reassuring as he always does when he tries to comfort him out of bed. Some of the intense coals of his eyes have grown thin, although most of them have just been purposefully dimmed for as long as Sihtric continues speaking, “I will _never_ tire of you. Just like I will _never_ tire of Uhtred, either.”

Sihtric’s gaze falls to Uhtred as he says that last sentence, startling him enough to make incoherent sounds stumble from his parted lips. Sihtric smiles another of those slow, scorching smirks of his. Uhtred feels himself blush quite crimson-dark, as embarrassing as that is. He hopes the darkness around them hides it at least somewhat.

“Finan, I love you too much to discard you!” Uhtred's exclamation, and the shimmering lust within his nevertheless sharp gaze, have Finan shivering. Then, he looks at Sihtric’s face, for he wants to look at him while speaking, but their rogue’s gaze is so _intense_ that Uhtred can only bring himself to focus on the high arch of his cheekbone, “And you, Sihtric, I love you too! I love you _both!_ You two have me, all of me, in this life and in the next!”

Uhtred feels completely out of breath by the time he ends that sentence in a volume that’s probably a tad too loud for the late hour. He hopes nobody in this town will try to bring it up to him later. He might be the Lord, yes, but there are some affairs that should remain private, as Ragnar has told his shameless self on multiple occasions in the past. Finan’s breathing has stopped altogether; he’s just staring at Uhtred’s blush and at Sihtric’s dark eyes. It comes as no surprise when Sihtric is the first one to react, because he’s also the one most in control right now.

“We will live with the black sheep.” His words give new life to Finan and Uhtred alike, “We will live with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> A stór means “darling” in (modern) Irish.
> 
> At the end of the third book, Finan fights with two swords, not with one and a shield; it’s also mentioned he hates fighting in the shield-wall because his agility needs the opened space.
> 
> The last line is inspired by the song's chorus -- "live with the Black Sheep, live with me".


End file.
